Found a Little Solace Where You Lay
by Liss1
Summary: Here's the end...read it. and review it. yea. ::nods::
1. I Was Not Into Being Silent

"My son," Mr. Cohen takes a deep breath. "My son was well on his way to success. He was intelligent, creative, motivated, and he had the potential. He was always working on new projects, excited about making it big. He came so close…he was almost there when God took my son away from me." He shifts his eyes downward to the first pew, to his wife, and then addresses the entire crowd once again. "God took my son away right when he was at his best. May this be a reminder to all of you, appreciate them while you have them."  
  
Before Mr. Cohen has finished his last words, a hushing is heard from the second row and someone storms out, followed immediately by another, presumably friends of Mark's.  
  
"Roger—slow down!" The tall guitarist spins around, startling his pursuer.  
  
"Did you hear him? Did you hear all that bullshit? Where the fuck does he get the right to say that shit?"  
  
Maureen steps closer to Roger and rubs his arm. "He doesn't. He doesn't have the right. He's an asshole, he's always been an asshole, we all knew that."  
  
"Yea but…this is his funeral. He's not even here to tell everyone what a mother fucking liar he is!" Roger sighs and relaxes his body, slouching against the wall, he places a hand over his face. "Christ Maureen, what am I going to do without him?"  
  
"I…" For once, she doesn't know what to say. "I don't know sweetie." She hugs Roger firmly but gently and tries to give him a strong smile, but fails. Instead, she begins to cry again. "I don't know."  
  
This time Roger takes the initiative and hugs Maureen, rubbing her back soothingly. His face is hot, and he realizes he's crying when the blue and white scarf around his neck begins to absorb his tears. "Me neither." After a few minutes alone in the hallway, a door about halfway down swings open quickly, and Mr. Cohen swiftly stalks towards Roger, who tenses immediately and wipes his face hastily at the sound of the older man's footsteps.  
  
"How dare you disrupt my son's services?"  
  
Roger becomes defensive and sarcastic, according to reflexes. "Sorry I left, I was drowning in bullshit."  
  
"Excuse me?" Mr. Cohen's growl doesn't disillusion Roger.  
  
"Everything you said was one fucking lie after another. You didn't mean any of it, how dare you disgrace him like that?"  
  
"Are you implying I didn't love my son?"  
  
"I'm IMPLYING that you're a goddamn liar. Either you lied to him his entire life when you told him he was nothing, and he'd always be nothing, or you lied just now, when you said you believed in him." Roger's voice drips with contempt and utter resentment.  
  
"What ever went on between him and I is our business, not yours. You don't know anything." Mr. Cohen's tone drops, ready for a verbal battle with the young musician.  
  
"No. What ever went on between the two of you is OUR business now, because he's not here to defend himself, to call all the shit you're pulling. I'm not going to stand here and let you play the poor victimized father. Not when I know the vindictive, manipulative asshole you are."  
  
Maureen steps back from the angry men, grabbing Roger's arm. "C'mon honey, we have to go."  
  
"No! No, I'm not going to let him do this to Mark." The musician jerks his arm out of Maureen's grasp and remains facing Mr. Cohen.  
  
"You don't matter." Mark's father spits the words at Roger. "You have no say in this family…in what happens between my son and I."  
  
"NOTHING HAPPENS BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR SON BECAUSE YOUR SON IS DEAD." His shouts echo through the hall as he breathes deeply and collapses against the wall, crouching close to the ground. He closes his eyes and mutters. "You never even knew him, how would you know what he wants?"  
  
"He wanted to be famous, he wanted to be remembered. He wanted success. Ending up with deadbeats like you was the worst thing to happen to him."  
  
Roger brings himself to his feet again and steps closer to Mr. Cohen, getting in his face. "He never wanted to be famous. He didn't want to be remembered. He didn't want success. He wanted the truth. He wanted love, and he wanted to be able to be proud of himself, of his family. Luckily, WE gave him a family he could be proud of."  
  
"What is there to be proud of? Drug addicts? Gay people? AIDS?"  
  
"LOVE! WE LOVED HIM. I LOVED HIM YOU FUCKING PRICK. IT'S MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR YOU." The raving guitarist whips around and runs down the hall, out a door into the spring air.  
  
Mr. Cohen stands, speechless. He looks to Maureen, confused and curious. They stare at each other silently, Maureen glaring with disgust and Mr. Cohen imploring her eyes for an explanation. Eventually, he gets one.  
  
"Isn't it obvious Mr. Cohen? They loved each other, more than anything. They've been together for a year and a half. Then you show up when Mark DIES and expect sympathy? You haven't even talked to him in the last four years. I didn't think even YOU would be blind to this. Roger loved him. He still does, and he always will. You couldn't have just left him alone, left us alone." She slowly begins to walk down the hallway, recreating Roger's footsteps.  
  
"He needed me." Mr. Cohen's voice remains strong and powerful.  
  
"Bullshit. He needed a father who loved him. And even that, he needed a long time ago. It's too late now." She inhales deeply and recovers. "Just get the fuck out of here, before you cause any more damage."  
  
Mr. Cohen roughly turns on his heel and trudges back into the church. Maureen rubs her temples before jogging out after Roger. She reaches the exit of the building and squints as the door opens and sunlight penetrates into the hallway. She looks both ways down the sidewalk before choosing a direction. Upon reaching the side of the church, she hears sobbing from the alley next to her. Peering in, she walks halfway down to find Roger, against the wall and doubled over, crying harder than he's ever allowed anyone to see.  
  
Maureen treads carefully towards him, trying not to disturb the grief- stricken musician.  
  
Roger senses his companion, but doesn't care that she's seeing him cry. The drama queen stands against the wall next to him and simply watches as he bawls, letting him know she's there. 


	2. We Are Growing as We're Grieving

A/N: Ok kids...this is the end of this one. Just two short chapters. Yup. I'm actually pretty pleased with the way it turned out (as sick as that may seem...) But yea...review? Excellent. And oh yea...for Becca and Cj and Lola because they forced me. ::nods vehemently::  
  
A few hours later, the friends sit in a circle on the floor of the loft. Roger, playing with the tassels of the worn scarf, lifts his head and takes a joint from Maureen.  
"Remember when...Remember that time he fell down the stairs?" Collins laughs and reminisces, taking the joint from Roger.  
Roger chuckles and nods. "He was carrying all that shit and it was all over the floor." His words are broken with laughter. "Almost broke his camera."  
Maureen leans back on her elbows and sighs. "He was so pissed at me, said it was all my fault." She giggles. "Then I told him I'd show him what was my fault and I threw a reel of film at the wall, it unraveled all over the staircase. Then I told him he was lucky it was the film and not his head." She reaches over to get the joint from Joanne and examines it. "We're gonna need another one soon." She giggles again and gets back to her story. "When I told him that, he wasn't mad anymore. He just laughed and mumbled something about his strength while he picked everything up."   
Roger laughs harder as he again receives the joint from Maureen. "You had him so whipped."   
Maureen counterattacks. "Oh please! Like I could have him any more whipped than you did!"  
"I never" Roger exhales. "I never had him whipped."  
The entire circle, minus Roger, burst out in laughter.   
Roger chuckles and passes the joint, almost gone by now, to Collins.  
"What?"  
Collins shakes his head, still laughing, and inhales. He holds the joint in front of him and analyzes. "Only about one, maybe two left. Who wants it?"  
Maureen and Joanne both point to Roger as he simultaneously raises his hand. They all know he needs it more than they do.  
Roger obligingly takes it and lays back. Maureen stands, moving towards the kitchen.   
"I'm gonna go get some food." She turns towards Joanne. "Pookie, I can use your card, right?" At the nod she receives in return, she smiles and heads to the door. "Who's coming?"  
Collins gets up and pats Roger's knee. "I am, we'll be back soon kids, don't starve."  
The two exit, and Joanne lays back next to Roger. She takes his hand and squeezes it. "How're you doing?"  
He gives a half sigh/half laugh "I've been better."  
"No shit."  
"What am I supposed to do?"  
She shrugs. "Nothing."  
"Nothing?"  
You're not supposed to do anything, because this isn't supposed to happen. Someone as young, and smart, and full of love as him...it's not supposed to happen." She hastily wipes her face with her free hand, and Roger looks at her, taken aback by this sudden flow of emotion. Seeing Joanne like this...crying...he realizes he's not the only person who's lost someone important.   
"How're you doing?"  
She breathes shakily. "Shitty."  
Roger turns onto his side in order to face the usually combative lawyer. "You two had really gotten close, huh?"  
Joanne can only nod until she gasps for a full breath. "He almost always ended up at my place. After filming, after fighting...we had so much to talk about; Maureen, you, his films, my cases, our parents...we just...connected."  
Roger nods, fidgeting again with the soft tassels of the scarf. At a loss for words, he sits up and pulls Joanne up with him. He untangles their hands and hugs her.   
The two friends share an embrace, and the smell of Roger-his hair, his shirt-floods Joanne's mind with memories.   
  
"I just got some really great footage."  
"That's wonderful, where?"  
He giggles. "Home."  
"You know Mark, I don't think I've ever seen you this happy."  
"I don't think I've ever been this happy."  
"Ok, c'mon, girl talk. What does he do that makes you...glow like this?"  
He giggles again and nudges her shoulder. "Well, if you really want to know what he does."  
She hits him with a red throw pillow. "You nympho! I don't want to hear about that!"  
"Oh you wish I would tell you."  
"Please."  
He gives her a huge hug and kisses her on the cheek. "I love you Joanne."  
"I love you too Mark." Slightly taken aback, she reciprocates his gesture. In the midst of his embrace she laughs. "You smell different."  
He smiles, a purely happy expression. "I smell like Roger."  
  
They pull apart, and both realize that the other is crying. They sit in silence, Roger rubbing his thumb against the worn fabric draped around his neck, and Joanne watching his hand caress the garment. Neither of the grieving friends know if any other item as simple as a scarf could hold so many memories.   
Time passes almost completely unnoticed until the door to the loft opens again, and Maureen walks in, followed by Collins bearing a large pizza box and a paper bag, presumably from the liquor store.   
Maureen flops down next to Joanne and gives her a kiss, noticing her tear streaked face, she inquires. "You ok pookie?"  
"Yea, I'm fine." She gives a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine."  
Collins places the pizza in the middle of the floor and opens it before removing items from the bag. A large bottle of vodka, a half gallon of orange juice, and a six pack of Coronas are placed on the floor next to the pizza. Collins pushes the Absolut and orange juice towards the girls and himself. "This, is for us." He slides the six pack towards Roger. "This, is for you."  
He smiles politely and takes one bottle out of it's cardboard home. "Thanks."  
"No prob. Now let's eat."  
The friends eagerly dive into the pizza, but Roger sits back, insisting he's not hungry.  
  
"Just eat. You're sick. You need your strength."  
"I'm not hungry."  
"I don't care. Eat." He gives a loving smile as he slides the bowl of soup at Roger.   
Roger reluctantly takes a small spoonful and slurps it, glaring at Mark.  
"That's better." He kissed Roger on the cheek. "I just want you healthy."  
"Thanks."  
"I love you."  
Roger smiles contentedly. " I love you too." He turns from his soup to kiss Mark longer.  
  
  
After another hour or two, Maureen, Collins, and Joanne decide it's time to get going.   
"Roger, we'll see you later, ok? We love you."  
Joanne plants a kiss on the musician's forehead. Maureen embraces him firmly, followed by a Standard Collins Bear Hug.   
The three exit, and Roger calmly begins to organize himself. He sets the half full bottle of Absolut next to the couch, and walks into the bathroom. AZT, Valium, Zoloft. Each bottle almost full. He places the bottles on the couch and walks to the phone. He dials quickly, assuring an uninterrupted message.  
"Hi, you've reached Maureen and Joanne. Leave us a message." The recording is toned down, due to recent events.  
"Maureen, Joanne. Thank you, for everything you've ever done. I love both of you. Do me one favor? Remember how much you two mean to each other. Love you."  
One down, one to go.   
"It's Collins. Leave me a message. I probably won't call you back, but you can try your best."  
"Collins. Just wanted to let you know how much you mean to me. I love you, and thanks for everything."  
Roger seats himself comfortably cross-legged on one end of the couch. He opens his AZT, and starts with that, downing two or three pills at a time with a mouthful of vodka. He finishes all the meds and sits silent, thinking only of his inevitable reunion.   
A voice fills the loft as the door opens intrusively.   
"Roger, I just wanted to make sure you were--"  
Maureen stops dead in her tracks at the sight she finds. Images and words swirl through her mind as she tries unsuccessfully to organize them. Roger, Zoloft, scarf, alcohol, tears, 'take as directed'. Labels zoom in and out of focus, until she finally comprehends and darts for the phone.   
"Maureen-please. Don't."  
She turns her head toward the musician, holding the phone to her ear, but having yet to dial.   
"Just...don't." She slowly hangs up the phone and walks to the couch, under his trance.   
He's crying.  
"I just want to be with him. All I've ever wanted was to be with him. Just...let me be with him?"  
He's pleading and sad and begging for understanding. All Maureen can do is stare and cry and nod, terrified at the fact that she knows what he's doing, and why. Scared to death that she knows she won't stop him.  
"Stay with me?"  
She nods numbly again, sitting on the other end of the couch and pulling him towards her. His head rests in her lap as he clutches onto Mark's scarf and reaches desperately for the neck of his guitar, just barely out of reach. Maureen leans forward, grasping the guitar and gently wrapping his hand lovingly around the strings. She strokes his hair softly, the only physical action she can muster, other than crying.   
Tears are streaming down Roger's face, but he is silent as he feels his guitar in his hand one last time.  
Maureen continues peacefully stroking his hair as she notices his eyes close slowly. Over come with grief, confusion, incomprehension, she whispers the only thing she can think of.   
"I just came back to make sure you were ok."  
He sniffles. "I am ok Maureen. I've never been better."  
She holds her breath to prevent from sobbing aloud and kisses his forehead gently as he takes his last breath. 


End file.
